Only You
by Pirate-Girl1017
Summary: With the kingdom reclaimed and his people thriving, Thorin has every reason to be content. But memories of lost love plague his nights and haunt his days, making the home he longed for a prison of dreams that might have been. As his family revels in their happiness, the King dwells on a centuries old sorrow. And yet a ray of hope may yet light his way in the darkness.
1. I had Locked my Heart Away

**Disclaimer****: **I own nothing with under the trademark of Tolkien or Jackson, I just really love their work. Any OC within however is mine, no taking her away please.

The clock on the wall struck three long, low chimes, the echo resounding through the silent bed chamber. Beneath the carven mantel a fire crackled weakly, the cinders glowing pitifully as the flames slowly faded. What small glow it gave was just enough to illuminate the single wingback chair that stood upon a fur throw rug just before the fire grate. A solitary figure sat half slumped over, bare feet propped up on matching cushioned stool. The orange light was casting shadows over the the silver locket in his hand. It was worn and tarnished, the once bright filigree half torn off and twisted black. The chain had at one time been an intricate braid of bright mithril, now a knotted mass of tangled metal thread. On nights like this he found himself reaching for that sad memento, when the world was quiet with sleep and there was not a soul about to disturb his sad thoughts. But it was not often that he could force himself to throw the latch, open the locket and gaze upon the contents. Tonight somehow he did.

An old painted image smiled up at him, the edges still tipped in soot and a little tear at the bottom left corner. Eyes as black as onyx twinkled with the mischief of youth. Pink lips smiled knowingly. Tumbling curls of darkest mahogany fell in riotous waves unable to be tamed.

Thorin wanted to trace his finger tips along the line of her cheek, remember the feel of soft skin warm with life tremble under his touch. How many times had he dreamed of hearing her bell like laugh only to wake alone to silence? With a shuddering breath he reached out one shaking hand, hovering just barely above the faded blush of her face. But he did not dare risk marring the fragile paper upon which the portrait was painted, it was the only likeness he had left of her. An old ache pained his heart as it always did whenever the harshness of reality found him like this, weak with memory and unable to force it back. Sad blue eyes gazed down upon the picture, filling with tears but refusing to let them fall. It seemed that reclaiming their home only made the agony of her loss rise afresh.

His childhood companion.

His muse.

His beloved.

What should have brought him boundless joy in seeing Erebor returned to his people had brought with their happiness a wound torn open again for their King. During the first year of reconstruction the most important task beyond stabilizing the mountain from the damage done by the wretched worm had been to make as many of the old living quarters inhabitable again. It was during the clearing out of what were once the homes of the royal court that they found it. Balin had tried to keep him away but nothing short of knocking him out cold and trying him to the throne could have accomplished that. The rooms were dark, a thick layer of dust covered everything and the smell of mold filled the dank air. But the dry rotted curtains still held a hint of their once brilliant purple hue, the dressing table still stood, though one rickety leg threatened to collapse, still had all the bottles, combs and brushes neatly arranged upon it. In the corner of the sitting room a music stand bore its burden of brittle paper marked with the faded ink notes of a half completed song. On the wall hung a spiked mace, the handle of which bore the runes proclaiming the weapon as a family heirloom. Everything was exactly how he remembered it. But for the cobwebs and air of decay it was as though he had walked back in time, to a happier moment when his hard and the trials of a hard life had yet to set upon his shoulders..

"Whose room was this?" It was Kili asking, always inquisitive.

"Don't know, uncle won't let anyone in to clear it out." At least Fili knew better than to push him on the issue.

His nephews looked around but wisely did not touch anything. He did not believe himself able to control is temper is they did. However it did not take long for the duo to discover something to sate their curiosity, if only a little. It was the elder brother who found the writing desk, the lid still left open, ancient letters, quills and empty inkwells piled about. The young Dwarf's keen eyes narrowed upon the signature at the bottom of one such parchment, Thorin could not pull it away before Fili read the name out loud.

"Who was Laraga?"

No one had dared to say her name in his presence since before the birth of his eldest nephew, it had been all but forbidden. After his heir had been born no one uttered a word over her again, that chapter in his life had been closed.

"Someone I once knew, before."

"Was she a friend?"

Thorin could not answer him. A tightness had overcome his voice and he could not speak. Instead he left them all behind, rushing from that room full of painful memories rotting in the dust. He knew that Balin would tell them the story, a shortened, censored version of that long ago time. There was no one who alive who could claim possession of the finer details, those he kept close and would never share them. That little corner of his heart had ages past been locked away, behind a wall of stone it seemed. Instead his old friend would tell of a lady of noble heritage, hailing from a distant kingdom betrothed to Crown Prince of Erebor. He would say how those of the court had called her the Nightingale, for the sweetness of her singing voice. Fili and Kili would listen with rapt attention as they always did while the tale was woven of two children who took to one another like drops of water. They would laugh at the antics the Dwarflings had gotten into, how the King Under the Mountain would laugh until his sides were sore every time they were drug in before him by their ears by fuming nursemaids. Then they would listen and reel in shock at how swiftly childhood friendship blossomed into more intimate feelings as they grew into adolescence. Thorin had been a young Prince then, full of hope and naivete that the world was a kind, just place. And Laraga...how she shone like the rarest of jewels. Others whispered how she was no great beauty, how it was such a shame that so pretty a voice belonged to so plain a girl. Their words had fallen on deaf ears, for to Thorin no lady of the Dwarves, Elves or Men could compare to his Princess. For her he had composed countless songs, his rooms had once been littered with the rejected scores he found lacking to be dedicated in her name. No other save perhaps his own mother had known him as well as Laraga. She had reached a part of him that no one else ever could. They had known each other's greatest dreams and darkest fears. Long nights passed in the library of the royal family with naught but a single lamp for illumination as they talked of everything and nothing. Plans for their wedding had only just begun when his world had burned down around him...such happy dreams laid to ashes...

All gone now...long gone...

Later he ordered her rooms to be cleaned, old tapestries restitched, grime scrubbed away. But after the marble gleamed once more and the sweet smell of her favorite lavender incense again filled the air, he had the doors bared shut. Perhaps the guards on hall patrol took notice, but they never said a word when every so often he made the slow trek from his chambers to her door. The heavy iron key clicked in the lock and he twisted it shut again behind him. Tonight as he sat in the plush chair before the dying fire was one such night.

It was painful, to be surrounded by her possessions, all newly cleaned and shining as if they were new. The four poster bed carved from the very stone of the mountain was dressed in furs and silks, the plum colored draperies tied back as if waiting for its occupant to pull them closed for a long rest. Everywhere he looked he found himself expecting to see her come strolling in. Why had he done this? Was her ruined portrait not punishment enough to look upon when his will was too weak to resist? But he knew the answer to his own question, such a glutton for pain he seemed to be.

Ordering her chambers to be made anew had been the closest he had ever come to erecting a proper grave for her.

Along with so many others who perished that dark day there never was any body to be found.

Not even among the mummified few they had discovered hidden within the mountain had proven to be her.

Dragonfire burned terribly hot and those caught directly in its scorching path were naught but dust when the beast finally passed.

Laraga. His jeweled nightingale was nothing but ashes scattered to the winds.

The tears burned hot and scalded as they ran down his cheeks. How often he found himself breaking down these days like this. All around him Erebor thrived, climbing out of the ruins towards its former glory. His sister-sons were well and happy, the younger married and the elder planning his own nuptials for the autumn. Thorin found he could not even manage pretending to be cross over their unusual choice of brides. Looking past the old hatred had not been easy for him, especially in regard to the Elf. And the daughter of Bard was more of a surprise than anything else. How blind he had been, risking the lives of those he looked upon as his own sons, to nearly deprive them of the happiness which had been once been his and so cruelly stolen from him. How could he have even considered not giving his blessing? Jaded and hard he had grown in the years since last he walked these halls, had baked in the warmth of love.

"What would you think of me now, _Mizimelûh_?" His voice was thick with half held back sobs that he was too stubborn to let escape his lips. "Would you even be able to look at me without disgust in your eyes?" In his hand the portrait simply looked back with the same coy expression, seeming to mock him with memories of brighter times. Answers he would never have, a smile that would grace only him only in his dreams and a pain that would not end until he was reunited with his One in the Halls of Mahal. "Wait for me, nightingale and may you one day forgive me."

By morning duty called, issues of state that were seemingly endless needed attending. Stiffly he made his way to the privy council chamber where his ministers and chief advisors awaited him.

"What is on the agenda for today?" he looked to Balin.

"The rebuilding of Esgaroth goes well but the surrounding fishing villages have suffered without the direct line of trade with it. Those who did not want to leave the lake in favor of Dale have offered to help reestablish the town by relocating there." Shuffled papers were quickly scanned, reshuffled and separated until the older Dwarf found what he was looking for. "They also have requested assistance in forming a city watch of some sort, can't say I blame them. I suggested Dwalin take half responsibility for it along with the representative King Bard will be sending, it would be a show of good faith."

"Not tae mention it'll assure a tight defense to the south. What with the stories comin' up from there about roaming Orcs and the like we cannae be too careful," Dwalin added.

"Have arrangements already been made for my inevitable agreement?"

"He'll be ready to leave as soon as this meeting is completed," Balin smiled cheekily.

"Take the help when we give it, you've been runnin' yourself raged," Dwalin grumbled.

"Well as that matter seems to have been decided for me, shall we continue?"

And so the days went on as they always did. Economic struggles were argued, maps consulted over collapsed tunnels, damage by the dragon that was yet to be fully repaired and so on. Summer was a busy season, markets were bursting with goods both foreign and domestic, herds of livestock were weaning their young, fair weather permitted merchants and diplomats to travel from afar to the mountain. Long daylight were hours filled with private or public audiences, long nights kept Thorin from sleep within his study with a never ending and over flowing supply of paperwork. For two weeks he had not the time to visit the chambers of his lost love and it pained him to realize he could not tell if this was a blessing or a curse. The day Dwalin was due to return from his initial meeting with the new inhabitants of Esgaroth dawned with rolling clouds, no sun shone in the pale grey sky and the birds around the mountain hunkered down in their nests. A loud and anxious banging at the door of his study drew the King from the latest report on the refurbished diamond mines and into the present. Irritated, he wondered why the guard hadn't announced this visitor first.

"Enter," he called as he sat down the cumbersome report.

Dwalin burst in, the guard on the other side was near cowering as the larger Dwarf shoved past. Clearly his old friend was in a hurry to see him, he had not even removed his traveling cloak or taken a moment to drop his axes off at home. He had a mad look about him, clothing askew, eyes wide, breathing so heavily that it would have been easy to believe he had run all the way back from the lake.

"Dwalin what in Durin's name is going on?"

"Ya have tae come to Lake Town, now!" He burst out, slamming his hands down on the oak desk with a sharp clang from the iron knuckles he still wore.

"What?" Thorin almost reeled back as Dwalin leaned forward, fast as a snake.

"If we don't leave now there's no way we'll make it in time! Get your coat and come on!" With harried movements the Dwarf whom he never thought could bluster and fumble like this damn near tore apart his office in search for said coat.

"What will we be too late for?" Jumping to his feet Thorin beat Dwalin to the armoire, shutting the door with a snap. "Tell me what's in Lake Town that is so important that I should just up and leave my kingdom in the middle of day unannounced?" But all Dwalin gave in answer was to rip the door open again, pull a fur lined coat from it's depths and shove it into his hands.

"Put it on, walk with me and I'll explain on the way," he growled. For a moment he stared at his friend, attempting to read the stormy look on his face but found nothing to give him a hint as to what could possibly have him acting so strangely. Sighing he looked back to the desk piled high with petitions, proposals and various mind numbing things. They needed his attention as well, he was King after all, but never had he seen his oldest friend act so rashly before either.

"This had better be good," he muttered. Together they rushed out, startling the guard with the King barking out an order to have all issues of the day be given over to Balin until he returned. "So, are you going to tell me what happened on the lake that has you up in arms like this?"

"Nothing unusual happened until late this mornin'," he finally replied as they made their way down the the long empty hall that lead to the royal wing. "Everything was going according tae plan, all the volunteers showed up for enlistment and the training was set to start today. The last of the villagers from the surrounding area were being brought in by Bard's men. A crier was out on a balcony telling them what was expected of them, where tae meet according tae skill and the like."

"Hardly seems out of the ordinary."

"Ya gonna let me finish?"

"Please, go on."

"Put a crown on yer head and every word that comes out of your mouth is sarcasm, reminds me of a certain sister-son. Don't think Kili inherited that trait from his Amad." Thorin glared back and a little smirk threatened to break Dwalin's serious expression. "Anyway, all is going well until the crier ends his little speech with that flourish they do, in the name of whoever is commanding and all their titles. He gets tae you and out of the corner of my eye I see someone fall in the crowd. I go over, seeing if there's a fight tae break up or something like that and two women are helping someone to their feet. First I think it's a Dwarrow then I see the skirts from under the cloak."

"A Dwarrowdam? In the company of Men?"

"Aye. So I was thinkin' something wasn't right, 'Damns just don't leave their homes to live with Longshank fishermen. The women were asking her if she was ill, fussing like they do and when she answered...I thought...I couldn't think and I just walked right up tae her." Dwalin slowed his near run down to a brisk walk and ran a hand down his face. Taking a deep yet shaking breath he opened his mouth a few times before he found his words again. "I'd know that voice anywhere, that's what I said tae her. Made her turn around, shocked her somethin' fierce and she said my name. Don't think she meant tae, ran off right after. Thorin...How can I..."

"What are you getting at? Who was she?"

"Laraga, it was her. Her face was...still I knew it was her, could never forget the sound of her voice. And she knew me, was frightened tae see me and near fainted when she heard you were King! Then she ran off, I tried tae follow but she knew her way around better and I lost track. That's why we have tae hurry, else she'll leave I know it!"

Throin froze. The world faded away yet the stone halls seemed to close in around him. Every sound in the city exploded in his ears but all became silent at the same time. Blood turned to ice in his veins but his body felt as hot as the forge. Nothing made sense as the events Dwalin described imprinted themselves in his mind's eye. How could it? Over a century had passed since last she walked these halls...this earth. There was no conceivable way that she might have survived the dragon. And even if she had, by some miracle, escaped the mountain...she would have sought him out...wouldn't she?

"It cannot be true..." Words failed him and he looked into the sad eyes of his oldest companion, there were no lies in his gaze, Dwalin had never been false in his entire life.

"I thought that too. My eyes are gettin' old but they ain't they still know a stranger's face from a friend's."

"Take me there."

It could all be a dream, he would awaken the next morning to a cold bed just he had every day for over a hundred years. Or he might well be loosing his mind, though this felt nothing like those dark hours he spent ruminating on madness inducing gold. Nothing made sense, the kingdom fell to the way side as they all but ran to the stables, a haze of green marble and half hearted greetings. Ponies were too slow, good for long journeys yet lacking in the speed they required. Ignoring the startled reactions of the stable boys they saddled two of the swiftest rams, both were pedigree steeds belonging to the royal family and normally meant for battle or formal parades. As the winds made a tangle of his hair, the grey sky threatened a mighty storm with thunder already roaring in the distance, for this Thorin cared naught. Nothing mattered.

Nothing except that tiny spark of hope blossoming in his chest, fragile and weak. Let the wrath of nature pour down upon him, he would face far worse opponents if victory returned to him the missing piece of his heart.

**Author's Note****: **Didn't think I was going to play around in Middle Earth again, but it seems to have it's claws deep in me. So yeah, Thorin's turn, that sassy bastard refused to leave me alone after giving his nephews their happily ever afters. But as seems to be my fate lately, this ran over where I prefer a one-shot to end. Give me some time to refine the second half, though as the semester is going strong I'm not sure when I'll be back, wish me luck in the meantime! Happy Reading!

Mizimelûh – (the) jewel of (all) jewels


	2. One Truth, Two Hearts

**Disclaimer:**I own nothing that has either their Tolkien or Jackson name stamped upon it. Nothing within has a trademark on it except for my OC so please do not steal her or use her without permission.

The race to Lake Town seemed to last an eternity. Above them the skies were torn asunder by blades of lightening which lit the heavens to the tempo of a chorus of roaring thunder. Even with their sure-footed steeds the path was slick and treacherous, one wrong step and the riders would be flung hard and fast into the rocky ground. The road was empty, not even the long trains of traders eager for a good deal wanted to brave the storm. Only once did Dwalin suggest turning back, even taking shelter for the night in Dale but one stern look silenced him immediately. It was his word that spurned Thorin into the maelstrom to begin with, he would not stay the chase for anything now.

A very despondent ferryman was stationed at the shore, shivering from the rain and hiding within a little stone shack built into the sea wall. He made at first to deny them passage across the churning waters but one look from the King Under the Mountin shut his toothless mouth instantly. Everyone in the surrounding three cities knew Thorin by face, he was often seen surveying the progress of his masons and walking the boarders with King Bard. It would not have been wise to force him to tarry.

Instead of rope the ferry was propelled by strong chains forged by the Dwarves, run through massive pulleys on either side of the lake. Those chains ran along the top, bottom and sides of the vessel to better stabilize the boat should the water be unfriendly, as it was now. Slowly the craft made its way over the frothy surface of the Long Lake, the lights of Esgaroth growing brighter with every agonizingly slow moment. Their rams were stabled in a small cubicle, locked in place and safe. Huddled under the wooden roof, fierce winds pulling and knotting his loose hair, Thorin kept his gaze on the town in the distance. Memories of his youth, when the city on the water was not a shadow of its former self played out before his mind's eye. Huge stone pillars raised above the waves supporting grand mansions with winding, colonnaded porches. Canals populated with sleek gondolas and bedecked in colorful banners that rustled in the breeze. It had been a beautiful city. Laraga had adored visiting Esgaroth in the spring and summer. Unlike most of their kind she had taken to water at a young age, swimming with the daughters of Men for hours in the rivers away from the careful watch of their guardians. More than once she had convinced him to accompany her on her many excursions into the markets and festivals there. He never could completely understand her fascination with the arts outside of their own people but he could not deny her anything, and so he went. Grudgingly he admitted to even enjoying himself on most of those occasions.

Could she really be there now?

If so, why had she not come home? It had been years since he had reclaimed Erebor, years that he had spent mourning her absence from their home.

"Almost there, yer Majesty," the ferryman said. Indeed, they were fast approaching the docks. Thorin felt the hand of his friend on his shoulder, he turned and found the face staring back grave and sad all at once.

"There's something I couldna get out back in the mountain," he spoke in Khuzdul so that the Man could not hear their conversation.

"And what is that?"

"I knew her soon as I heard her voice, I told ye that. But when she looked at me...she's not as she was," Dwalin had some trouble finding his words.

"What do you mean?" A thousand scenarios ran through his imagination. Had she been captured by flesh peddlers after the cataclysm? Was she branded a slave, thief or worse? In her time away from her people had she been taken in by some tradesman in need of cheap labor and forced to work for her life as he had?

"She...didna escape Erebor unscathed." Dwalin took a few deep, calming breaths. One hand raised to the left side of his face, mapping out a border from forehead, cheek, and down his neck past the collar. "Scars, terrible burn scars, Thorin. I don't know how she survived them let alone the infection that was sure to set in. Lass must have been in pain for years after it..."

Rage threatened to overtake him, the urge to break the nearest bench made his fingers twitch, his teeth clench painfully as he held back the agonized howl that demanded to be let loose into the night. Was nothing in his life destined for happiness? Could one person he loved not be left unscathed by the curse of his family? Even after his death, that vile worm Smaug would not let him have peace. His claws reached from beyond the grave to ruin all Thorin held dear and he was helpless to save them...

"And so she never cane home," the words stuck in his throat.

"I cannae say I blame her." Dwalin looked towards the shore, a haunted look on his haggard face. "I remember the wounded we pulled from the mountain, their cries of pain rang in my nightmares for years. Laraga was a strong 'Dam, I'm not surprised she held onto her will tae live. But she all but ran when I saw her, finding her isnae gonna be easy."

"She does not want to be found. However...I can not...I must see her."

"I know Thorin, I know."

The ferry pulled up to the dock, the ferryman scrambled over the prow to tie the mooring line to the shore. Their fare was paid, more than was usually charged in pity for pulling the poor Man out in such a storm. After their steeds were safely ensconced in a nearby stable, they were rushing down the bridges and streets of Esgaroth. Inns and half way houses were the first places to be investigated. Gossip and here-say held grains of truth, a Dwarrowdam living amongst the towns of Men was sure to cause the tongues to wag. For the most part Thorin kept his hood up, letting Dwalin do all the talking. Using his rank to gain entrance into the town was one thing but to start a rumor mill while on the hunt was something he would not risk at a time like this. For a time they received only blank stares or raised brows for answers, no one seemed to have any clue about any female Dwarves living outside the mountain. Time was racing away from them, ever minute that passed was another that their quarry could be silently sneaking away into the stormy night.

"She always was a slippery one when she wanted tae be," his old friend grimaced. "I should 'ave just kept runnin' earlier."

"You said so yourself that she knew this town better than you, she's had years to commit and the back alleys and cut throughs to memory."

"Aye, always did have a better sense of direction than you ever did." Humor was never Dwalin's strong suit, he was far better at bashing in skulls than telling jokes.

Thorin told him as much and continued down a dank and fish smelling street.

Shops of imported fabrics and signs boasting exquisite tailoring lines the planked walk ways. The cloth merchants had been one of the early trades re-established in the town and now they had become a wealthy industry on the lake. There was no need to tarry here, all the doors were shut up tight, lights in the windows all gone dark. And not a soul to interrogate, the pub up at the next cross roads would be his next target.

Or else it would have been, had he not been halted by a sudden movement in the shadows of a recessed doorway.

"Who goes there?" he called out, hand going to the sword strapped to his belt.

"Shh, not so loud, King of Dwarves, we don't want to wake the whole neighborhood." The voice was thin, female and the form that slowly moved out of the darkness and into the light of a sputtering candle lamp was too tall to be one of his own people.

"Why the need for secrecy, woman?" Dwalin too was reaching for his weapon.

"Because word travels fast in small towns, even faster still when the ruler of the mountain comes traipsing through. You're looking for someone and I can help you find her."

He did not want to know who had started the chain of talk that lead this strange woman to him, or he to her if all situations were to be considered. Else if he did find the perpetrator, and that squealing pig lost him this one chance he had to find his love, then there would not be enough left of the scum for the carrion to pick.

"We didnae say a name when we were asking our questions. If ye're so sure that you can help us, tell us who we're lookin' for." The woman was dressed in peasant's clothes, old and well worn but clean and newly patched. Her face was tan and heavily lined from a lifetime of working under the sun, her ash blond hair streaked with grey, she had to have been in her middle years.

"She calls herself Laraga and I've known her since I was a girl. Lived in a village on the far side of the lake since 'fore I was born. We came here lookin' for work now King Bard ain't taxing us to death like the Master did. Now do you want me life story or are you gonna listen when I say I know where your lady is?"

He shared a stunned look with his friend, neither seemed able to formulate an answer to her shocking question. All this time, she had been so close after the dragon came, they might have even passed just beyond a rocky outcropping along the road. Then during the battle, when the town burned, she would have seen it all on the horizon and wondered what evil had awoken the beast once more...never realizing it had all been his own foolish fault. Now, years after his coronation he finds she had been right under his nose the whole time, he was not sure his heart could take the shock, or hold the guilt of failing her so spectacularly.

"Lead me to her, woman," his voice was gruff even to his own ears.

"The name is Hilde, your Majesty." Whether or not she meant the words in jest or seriousness he did not know and did not care, but still he followed on her heels through the dark streets. Twists and turns they made, it was enough to disorient a person, more than once they paused as the night guard passed through. When at last they stopped it was before a small house, one of the few to escape the flame of the fire drake. It was simple, with a few boxes hanging from the windows filled with herbs and a few pale flowers with their petals closed for the night. A single light still glimmered through the shutters of a room on the upper floor, Thorin found he could not pull his gaze from the flickering flame.

"She's got her mind set on leaving, won't listen to reason, or me," Hilde sighed sadly as she pulled a large brass key from her pocket. "I didn't go out after hours to bring you here for your ease, Dwarf King, I did it for me friend," the locked slid open and the woman opened the door then stepped inside. "Up the stairs, first door on your right," she dismissed him and took a seat before an stone fireplace.

Dwalin looked confused, torn between following him up the stairs or keeping watch on the first floor. A nod towards a near by chair answered the question for him, and with a swift grasping of their hands, Thorin began the trek up the creaky, wooden steps.

His heart was pounding like the thunder outside.

Blood rushing through his veins echoed in his ears like the rustling of the fierce wind.

Sweat began to drip down the back of his neck, his hands were actually shaking as he finally stood before the cracked door.

It was open a jar, the orange glow seeping into the shadowy hall, the sound of pacing foot steps could be heard through the doorway. Luckily the hinges were at least well oiled, it did not make a sound when he slowly pushed it open. His eyes took a moment to adjust, they were not as keen as once they were in his youth. But the sight before him was might as well have been as clear as day.

A small bedroom, just a narrow bed, a dresser, a chair before a small brazier and a hanging mirror, that was all. Upon the quilted covers was an open satchel, nearly full with clothes. Hurrying from the open drawers of the tiered chest was the occupant, arms full of traveling supplies, muttering a what might have been a list to herself. Riotous mahogany curls threatened to tumble from a hastily made bun, eyes dark as ebony kept returning to a pile of possessions laid out on the floor. She was dressed in a pair of baggy trousers, wool tunic and boots, ready to run at a moment's notice. There was no chance on Middle Earth he was just going to let her disappear, not again.

"Mizimelûh," he said. The word caught in his throat, he could actually feel the tears gathering in his eyes.

The bundle in her arms dropped to the floor, a faint gasp could be heard over the heavy wind at the window. Her back went rigid, he could not see her face, and she did not turn around. Slowly he walked toward her, ever cognizant that she might as well be a frightened doe and he a hunter, so shocked and scared as she was.

"Laraga, my jewel, look at me," he pleaded, stopping just inches from her prone figure.

"You shouldn't have come."

After all these years, those were the first words she spoke to him? He should have been furious, he should have demanded an explanation, but he couldn't force his lips to form a single syllable. Her voice was just how he remembered it, sweet like honey and ringing like bells. In his dreams he heard her singing, just for him, as it was when they were happy. Now, when at last he could see and hear her before him, he could not put to speech all the things he so desperately wanted to say.

"Hilde shouldn't have found you, I told her not to," her voice shook, as did her shoulders. "I am not your jewel anymore, I am not the Dwarrowdam you lost. It would be better for you...if you just went home."

It was as though he were atop the look out point again, so cold and vulnerable to the sword that was meant to end his life. Go home? Without her? How could she possibly ask him that, after all they had been to each other? In his hurt and confusion he did not recall the news Dwalin had reported to him earlier, how she had not escaped the dragon hale and whole. So when she made to walk away from him, he acted and did not think. Reaching out, he took hold of her shoulders, fighting against her as she struggled against him, and finally he forced her to face him.

"No!" Her hands reached up to cover the left side of her face, but it was too late.

He had not seen before, when he stood in the doorway, she had been in profile, the damage had been hidden then.

The burns went from her forehead, across half her face, to her neck and vanished beneath the collar of her shirt. He was sure there must be more hiding under the homespun fabric, as her left hand was damaged as well. Though her eye was miraculously spared, her brow and beard on that side were burned away, with mottled scars now taking their place. And her ear, never again would she decorate it with precious ornament, for it had half melted into the side of her head. Pockets of missing hair around her ruined ear were covered by well placed locks pinned into place.

"Why? Why couldn't you just leave me dead?" Tears ran down her cheeks, that old spark that lit them in their youth returned for just sliver of a moment in her fury.

"How can you ask me that? As though I would not have come for you had I known you still lived?"

"Rather you got on with your life, leading our people, than spend years hovering over a cripple!"

Thorin was taken aback at her outburst. She shrugged his hands from her shoulders, nearly tripping over the pile of clothing she had dropped as she moved to sit heavily upon the bed. Her ruined hand ran through her loosening hair, reaching up to pull the pins free. A cascade of dark brown curls fell like waves around her face, hiding the terrible burns from his view.

"You could never be a burden to me," he said softly.

She only shook her head in response.

There was a painful silence for some time, he had not the slightest notion what to say.

When at last she began to speak, it was slowly, carefully and dull, all the ferocity drained away.

"I was racked with fever for weeks, medicine was scarce, I'm told I almost died at least half a dozen times. There were a few other Dwarves who escaped with me, they expired one by one, sometimes laying right next to me." The expression on her face was haunted, her body might be right before him but her mind was far, far away. "It was years before I could lift anything over the measliest of weights...I cannot even hold a mace anymore. A defenseless, weak and useless shell."

"Do not call yourself such names!" He strode over to her, dropped to one knee, and held both her hands in his. "None of this, any of it, was your doing! You cannot be considered weak or lesser because of fate's cruelty. I would have carried you to the Blue Mountains if I had to, had I only known..."

"We were unconscious when the people of Esgaroth found us, and did not wake for some time...everything was so confused then. No one knew who we were, who I was, and the pain...words would not come to me as easily as just screaming. And not a familiar face to be found."

Thorin felt as though he were drowning in her dark, tear filled eyes. In coming here he had only his own desperation fueling him, only his pain that consumed his mind. Her torturous past, the loneliness, ripped into his already weeping heart and finally brought the stinging of tears to his eyes.

"When did you...how did you live? Who...?" Now he was the one at loss for words, unsure if he truly wanted to know the answers to the questions that now ran rampant through his thoughts.

"I was the last of us, the 'strongest' and they told me that was why I survived. But when I at last could speak, the smoke damaged my throat and words came with pain, did I learn that my people were already gone. There was no chance of my traveling, a kind family took mercy on me. Those were the forebears of Hilde."

"And you lived with them ever since?"

"Does that bother you?"

"No, if they are the reason for your survival then I owe them more than I could ever repay. But I cannot deny that there were dark imaginings when Dwalin first told me that you lived...I worried as to how, and who."

"Dwalin should have taken the hint not to go running to you after my...episode," she ground out. "No, I was not indebted to them for anything other than their kindness. I will not say that times were not hard, but I never had to resort to...desperate measures in order to live. And none ever abused my sorry state, they were too busy worrying over themselves for that."

The sigh of relief that came from his lips was audible, even through the pounding of the rain tat the window. Not so many women could escape the aftermath of war, and it was war that the dragon declared on the Dwarves of Erebor that day. She would not appreciate him naming her lucky, but he thanked the powers that be for small favors in sight of such utter tragedy.

"Have all your questions been answered sufficiently?" The princess she was born as was given life again, her voice regaining some of its strength again.

"Not hardly, there are well over one hundred years to catch up on. Once you are home again, all of this will be in the past." Laraga sat up straight, the tears had since stopped flowing, her expression turned to stone.

"I'm not going back to the mountain."

Thorin reeled, this had to be some kind of cruel joke.

"What do you mean? Of course you are!"

"And do what? Look at me, Thorin!" She roughly pulled her hair back, exposing her scars. "I am ruined, a shadow of what I once was. I cannot fight, cannot work, and I am not young any more." With her free hand she pointed to her right temple, where her long hair still grew thick and luxurious. But now streaked with silver, just like his. "My body cannot bear you heirs, that cycle ceased long ago. What good am I now to your kingdom? What use does Erebor have for me?"

"What use...? You are my love, all I ever dreamed for, begged for the Great Smith to return to me! Had we married, and all had gone as we had hoped and still we had no children of our own I would still love you!"

"You say that now, with the comfort of your sister-son to take your throne. But I have seen husbands leave wives for it, growing to resent that which once they held most dear. You would not love who I have become, the years have made me cold." Slowly she let her hair fall about her shoulders, slowly turning her face away, always careful to hide the mottled flesh from him. But he would not have it. This could not be happening, it was worse than a nightmare come to life. Had he the power to bring that disgusting lizard back to the world of the living he would, just to kill him again, and again, in retribution for what he had wrought upon them.

"You have lived too long in the company of Men, you have forgotten how fiercely a Dwarf loves his One." Gently he took her face in his hands, bringing her gaze to meet his, watching as the echo of a frightened young princess looked out from the tired eyes of a broken adult. "I am not leaving without you, not again. Long ago you were stolen from me and I have never forgiven myself. Knowing what I do now I cannot think to ask your forgiveness for I do not deserve it."

"Thorin, you couldn't have known-"

"And yet I did not look, I assumed you had died in the mountain. For that I cannot apologize for that enough."

She only nodded, the hard facade about her began to break down.

"If you could have known how desperately I wished for your guidance over the years. Those long nights when I felt I could no longer hold the weight of guiding our people on my shoulders, I would close my eyes and imagine you there. You gave me strength when I would have gladly let the world fall down around me."

"Don't you see I had to let you go? I had to step back and let you shine, be the king were born to be." The feel of her fingers tracing his cheek, so cool and tender, a cold drink for a dying man. He grasped it tight, pressing reverent kisses into her calloused palm. "I would have held you back and I could not bear it. And still I hated myself, so guilty for living when so many had not..."

"What is a king without his queen?"

"When I saw the dragon destroying Lake Town, I froze. Hilde tells me that I was white as a sheet, she could not shake me out of whatever paralyses had struck me. Then, when the battle was done and word spread that the mountain was reclaimed, I was prepared to march there myself and see who dared to take your place. Imagine my shock when I learned it was you all along...and I feared the reception I would find if I went inside."

"So you stayed silent, for fear of what others would say of you?" That was not how he remembered his Laraga, bowing to the petty gossip of others. But, they were different now, and the world was a hard place. As much as he wanted to rant and rail that he would not have stood for the low brow whispers set against her, she would not. Dwarves chose their battles carefully, just as he had, so did she.

"I would rather you have the best memories of me and let me rest in peace than allow others to tarnish your long awaited reward with the stain of a broken queen." Her gaze was clear again, free of tears. "This evening I was prepared to leave, start anew in some small town where no one knew my face, or what is left of it. And then you come like a thief in the night, ready to steal away my good intentions. What am I to do now?"

"Damn what anyone else except those who care for you to the farthest pit of Mordor. I have not lead the easiest life, I have done terrible things that nearly cost not only my own life but those of my nephews as well. Friends doubted my sanity, allies nearly turned to enemies, all because I was not strong enough to fight the curse that plagued my family from the days before the dragon came. We do as we must, move on, but together."

"You make it sound so easy..."

"Come home with me, fight the nay sayers as you did when we were young. This face, no matter what has changed over the years, is still the face that I love more than any sight on earth. Please, mizimelûh, grant me this one request and I shall do all in my power to make you the happiest of all Mahal's creations."

"Âzyungâl, such a way with words you have," she sighed. "Age has improved you greatly in that respect."

Did she truly just play a jest on him?

A twinkling in her onyx eyes that was so characteristic of her youth sparkled there again, a small smile pulled at the corner of her lips.

"Are you, agreeing with me?" he dared to ask.

"I am, to an extent."

"Name your terms, my lady, anything you wish."

"Court life can be demanding, and I have lived a simple existence for many years, Thorin. Give me time to acclimate myself again. I shall continue living here, where I am comfortable, and we shall pick up where we left off all those years ago, slowly." It was not something he had been expecting, not prepared for. A chamber of suites in the guest wing, or a reentry into their home quietly so that none yet knew of her presence. Even a delay in writing to her surviving family, those he was ready to accept. But to live apart from her, as though they were courting youth? It was a blow to his pride, to that protective part of him that demanded he hold his One as close as possible.

"I will not say that what you request will not be difficult for me, when I all I want is to whisk you back to Erebor as swiftly as possible. But for you, only you, will I curb my impatience."

"That warms my heart to hear how you have grown. There was a time you would have spent the night arguing your case to me."

"And yet you would have known I would kneel to your demands in the end, at least in part. I was a hard-headed fool," he shook his head. "I am a lucky Dwarf that you tolerate me as you do."

"A sign that you have grown into your crown, King Under the Mountain."

He rose to his feet, and brought her to hers. They looked into one another's eyes, the comfortable silence punctuated by the storm.

The kiss they shared was sweet, passionate and grew in fervor the longer he held her in his arms. There was only the two of them, two hearts beating to the beat of one eternal truth, that they were meant for one another. When at last they parted, the look of contentment on her beloved face brought a wave of peace over him that he had not felt in a century.

"Stay for the night? It is not safe for one as important as yourself to attempt crossing the lake in such weather."

"With such a hostess, how could I refuse?" Her hands ran over the front of his tunic, he threaded his fingers in her wild hair.

"You'll catch cold in these wet clothes," she lightly scolded him. "Come downstairs by the fire, I have some mulled wine that will warm you up. And I should apologize to Dwalin for my, display." Now she looked adorably sheepish, a blush turning her cheeks rosy. It was all so domestic, so simple for het to worry for him running out in the rain, it warmed him as nothing ever had.

"That sounds perfect," he offered her his arm. "Shall we, my Queen?"

"Lead the way, my love."

**Author's Note:**Finally finished. That took longer than I intended. As it is I hope you liked this, certainly wasn't something I originally planned on but I did like writing this little story. This will be my final foray in Middle Earth now that I've given a story for each in the Durin family. In the meantime I've another longer fic I'm working on and who knows how many more in the works. Happy Reading!

Also! If you haven't already seen the announcement on my profile, the reason that this chapter has been so long in the updating is that I have been working on getting my original work published. Last semester that finally happened! If you're a fan of erotica, steampunk or both please check it out! Www dot bookstrand dot com/kiss-of-fire And if you liked it, be sure to look me up on Goodreads, leave a review/comment and spread the word!

Mizimelûh – (the) jewel of (all) jewels

Âzyungâl - lover


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